


Only a matter of time

by krav



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, sexual overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krav/pseuds/krav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set during S2, when Will has a cover to maintain, and Hannibal knows Will's dangerous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a matter of time

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this from Will's POV, but I couldn't get his voice right. What does it say about me that I find Hannibal easier to emulate, lul

 

Will was always his first guest for dinner.

He sat at the bar, picking at his thumbnail and staring at Hannibal's knees. Sometimes eye contact was still an issue.

"You look disgruntled."

Will lifted his eyes sullenly. "I feel... _uncomfortable_ watching you cook."

Hannibal could almost hear his thoughts. Mistrust pumped through them like blood. But as it circulated, it changed.

He schooled his voice and his expression, replying lightly, "Then help me."

Will approached the counter, circling, giving Hannibal a wide berth. "What," he started, then stopped, swallowing. "What can I do to help," he said awkwardly, eyes focused on Hannibal's shoes.

"I'm braising potatoes. Help me cut them."

Will took the knife in trembling fingers. The first shaky cut ripped obliquely through the side of the potato, and he closed his eyes and set the knife down with a clatter.

"Like this," Hannibal said softly, standing behind him and taking his hand, showing him how to grip the knife properly. He felt Will stiffen, then relax almost imperceptibly against him. His hair smelt of woodsmoke.

 _Good boy,_ he thought as they moved the knife. A shame he would have to subject his dear friend to such anguish in the coming weeks, but there was a season for everything. After all, how could one trust affection that was never tested?

He was lifted from his thoughts by a flustered Will Graham, who turned around in his arms, blinking rapidly and working his lips soundlessly, as if trying to explain himself. Seized by an instinctual urge to smooth out wrinkles and mollify discomfort, he took Will's face in steady hands, calming the shaking by pressing close.

Will shut his eyes, body quivering. After a couple tremulous breaths he managed, "A-are you going to kiss me?"

Hannibal froze. "No." He was surprised at himself, at the lack of self-control he'd just displayed. That sort of thing could have... consequences.

Will opened his eyes, scowling at Hannibal for a long moment. Challenging. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth against Hannibal's. He tasted of winter, of a thick bed of snow burying the pines out in a cold lonely country. Of fear, and want. A hint of cinnamon.

Hannibal passively received the biting, artless kiss, but his grip of steel steadied Will's back against the counter. Will nipped his lips again, provocatively, like a pup testing its limits. Not willing to be mocked, Hannibal pressed his hips forward threateningly.

Flushed and panting, Will broke through the ring of his arms and stumbled across the kitchen, upsetting a ceramic dish on the edge of the stove, which fell to the floor and shattered. He winced, but paid it little mind, pointing at Hannibal unsteadily.

"You—Don't ever do that again," he panted.

Hannibal smiled gently, inclining his head. "As you wish. Next time you kiss me, I won't allow it."

Hannibal didn't miss the way Will grimaced at the irony in his voice. Will didn't trust him yet - after all, he was still trying to reconcile The Ripper with his friend. He knew. He knew Hannibal knew. Their knowledge of one another's awareness resembled a mise en abyme - a work of perfect art.

They reflected one another into a bloodred infinity.

.

Later, in the dark, they handled the uglier rituals of their relationship. Will sat still for him as Hannibal pressed the needle slowly into his arm. He was very gentle, and could isolate a vein with a small amount of pressure from his thumb, rendering tourniquets crude and unnecessary. Will barely flinched, but stared straight ahead.

At length his mouth went slack and his head lolled to the side. Hannibal carried him to the mattress. At first he had sent Will on errands during their sessions. Then he had allowed him to rest on the couch as the inflammation cascade compromised his hypersensitive brain. Now Will slept in his bed like a proper conjugal partner. As Hannibal sat regarding his angel—the filigree of his design—a lazy hand failed out, delivering a caress to the side of his face. Hannibal basked in the sensual heat for a moment before removing the temptation.

Then the telling rosy flush spread across Will's skin, disappearing beneath the open throat of his shirt, painting his flesh with a tantalizing vulnerability. Despite himself, Hannibal felt the stir of arousal low in his body. Someday he would paint his Will from the inside out, then leave Will to discover the consequences of his betrayal in a sober state. But not tonight.

Will writhed against the mattress, disturbed by dreams. Hannibal stroked him back to placidity. Firm hands found that brittle, devastating thorn of passion twisting through Will's chest, making his heart gallop within its delicate cage. 

Gods, but Will was a magnificent being. 

Shuddering at the contact, apparently disgusted by the way his own body betrayed him, William's eyes fluttered open, and he breathed a hazy "Dr. Lecter?" 

Hannibal cooed softly, "Rest now Will." Attempting to obey, Will turned his head to the side, slack wrists crossed above his gentle curls, and carelessly parted his legs.

No, Hannibal would not send him outside like this unless Will forced his hand, and even then, he would watch as Will did his bidding—as he entrenched himself further in the understanding that would bond them irrevocably—ensuring that no harm befell his wild rose.

Hannibal touched his sweaty locks, smiling sadly. His beloved was still so aloof... ironic, really, since he was the one unable to subdue his baser urges. Not that Hannibal minded. For Will, the attraction began as a brutish, physical thing. But Hannibal knew it would evolve.

This would become one of the things they refrained from discussing in therapy.

.

Hannibal exercised less caution and more artistry in tampering with Will now: he knew Will wouldn't be taking evidence back to the FBI. They would handle it themselves this time. So nobody was monitoring the nuances of Will Graham's blood stream.

Under the influence of heroin—an idea he'd borrowed from a fellow artist—Will murmured, "You don't understand... who you're hurting," which had made Hannibal go very still.

What Will had yet to realize about him - and it was a trait Will would surely admire, as it was a trait they shared - was Hannibal's integrity. He made a point of never second-guessing himself, and he never hesitated. He never needed to apologize because he considered every possible course of action ahead of time. And his meticulousness was tempered with the profoundest of insights - self-awareness. Because of this, he knew exactly what Will found monstrous about him, as well as what Will could forgive.

If only he could get Will to think outside of the box. Well, when the box was human society, even a mind as brilliant as Will's would understandably struggle.

But they had time.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and feedback appreciated.


End file.
